


My Best Mate, Frida

by jennandblitz



Series: Just a Jeepster for Your Love [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Drabble, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Sirius Black, Pining, Sirius Black is Full of Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25204102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandblitz/pseuds/jennandblitz
Summary: Sirius Black isabsolutelynot losing his mind over the fact that Remus Lupin is going on a date, looking likethat.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Just a Jeepster for Your Love [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1389226
Comments: 10
Kudos: 156





	My Best Mate, Frida

It’s round about now, Sirius realises, that he needs to fully face the truly, horrifically _shit_ situation he’s ended up in. It’s not the fact he has a paper on the impact of Frida Kahlo on modern feminism due on Monday that he’s written one whole paragraph for, or the fact he hasn’t done laundry in a few weeks and is down to one shirt and possibly two pairs of underwear, or the fact the cigarette he’s trying to roll is going abysmally and his jeans are covered in tobacco dust.

It’s the fact that Remus Lupin is going on a date.

Remus Lupin is going on a date and it’s not with him.

It’s Saturday night, and he and Peter are staying in to do _work_ , when James is off probably doing something Sirius doesn’t want to think about with Lily, and _Remus_ is going on a date with someone from his Lit class.

Surrounded by a moat of books and notes, Sirius’ laptop is forgotten to the side as he rolls a cigarette with shaky fingers—finally manages to get it to tuck under properly, Jesus—and listens to Remus singing along somewhat loudly to _The Jam_ in his room _._ Any minute now, Sirius knows he’s going to walk out of his room, looking so stupidly, ridiculously attractive that Sirius will probably let his smoke fall out of his mouth and burn a hole in his jeans… again. Grumbling to himself and pushing aside a notebook to grab his lighter, he sparks up and takes a long drag.

If there’s one thing Sirius does well, it’s talk himself in circles. He’s so thoroughly convinced, and has been since that second term of first year, when he and James had moved from halls into a shared flat with Remus and Peter, that Remus is uninterested in him. He’s not even sure Remus is queer, though he _does_ have a bisexual pin on one of his beanies, and they did all go to Pride that past summer before they went home, but what if he’s just a damn enthusiastic ally? Or even worse, truthfully, what if he _is_ queer, but it’s _Sirius_ that’s the problem?

Right on cue, the music in Remus’ room shuts off, and a moment later he appears in the doorway that Sirius studiously tries to ignore but fails miserably at. _Shit_ , and he looks _unreal_. Remus is usually in oversized sweaters and jeans too long that bunch up around his ankles atop his brogues. The beanies and the wallet chain are usually the only real thing that gives away the complete punk riot that appears when he’s three beers deep into a night out. Tonight though, a night out Sirius supposes, but not with _him_ , Remus is in skinny jeans so tight that Sirius has to not stare pointedly at the curve of his arse, and a _Distillers_ shirt that hangs loose and exposes the pointed tip of one collarbone around the neckline, a studded belt visible beneath the ragged hem. When Sirius drags his gaze up, Remus’ hair, sandy blonde with the remnants of teal dye clinging to the tips, is all mussed and in his eyes, and those eyes are ringed in smudged black, and Sirius can’t _breathe_.

“Alright Sirius?” Remus asks, his footsteps resonating over the hardwood floor in those studded creepers Sirius would steal if Remus’ feet weren’t woefully smaller than his.

Sirius realises at once that it’s absolutely happened again, and his cigarette burns his fingers, then leaves a smudge of ash and ember on his jeans as he snatches it up and curses his inability to keep it together around Remus fucking Lupin when he looks like _that_. Sirius wants to push his paper aside, stand up, grab Remus around the waist and throw him against the wall. He wants to grab the front of that shirt and haul Remus in to mark his mouth with kisses, wants to tell him to _stay here, fuck the gig, stay here and let me make you scream._ He wants it so bad he sees it when he blinks just before answering.

“Yeah, Jesus, sorry—distracted by the idea we might be back in 2005 with that emo fringe. You’re going out dressed like that?” Sirius quips, tugging his laptop back into his lap to hide the fact every millilitre of blood in his body is rushing south.

Remus snorts a laugh and flips him off. “Please, as if you haven’t walked out of a Led Zeppelin biopic at any moment.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, but he can’t retort; one because it’s true, and two because Jesus _fuck_ , Remus walks towards the door and his arse could launch a thousand ships.

“Want any merch from the gig?” Remus asks, pulling Sirius from an extended metaphor about Helen of Troy or Adonis or Pygmalion.

“Nah,” Sirius hums, shaking his head as he relights his cigarette and tries to steer his mind towards something truly vile so he can concentrate on anything but kissing the living daylights out of Remus. “Have fun with… who is it?”

“Iain.” Remus shrugs on his bomber jacket, a flash of something alighting over his face that Sirius doesn’t recognise. Well, he’s queer then, huh? So it’s Sirius that’s the problem. “From my lit class.”

“Oh yeah. Have fun with Iain.” Sirius _tries_ to keep the disdain out of his voice, really, he does.

Remus chuckles lowly as he pulls open the door to the flat. “Bye Pete!” He calls, and after a shout from Pete’s bedroom, glances through that teal-tinged hair and says, softly, “Bye Sirius.”

With a groan, Sirius pushes himself from the sofa to go and make coffee, and resolutely not think about Remus and _Iain_ at the gig, all pressed close and sweaty, dancing together…

It fails miserably, of course, but thankfully Sirius is passionate about the subject of his paper, so he loses a good few hours in there. Feverish motivation tends to descend on Sirius rather often, and so when the door opens again, he jerks his gaze up and realises it’s dark but for the light of his laptop screen, and it’s _late_. Pete is snoring softly from his room. Remus is silhouetted in the doorway by the stairwell light. Sirius shifts and pushes his hair back from his face with one hand.

“Alright Remus,” he says, his voice hoarse from an evening of disuse, too many cigarettes and endless coffee.

For a horrid moment, Sirius thinks Remus has brought Iain the Date back with him, but he’s alone and lets the door swing shut behind him. “You’re up late.”

“Hanging out with my best mate Frida, of course,” Sirius drawls, gesturing to his laptop. Remus looks even better now, his eyeliner smudged, a rip in the knee of his jeans. Sirius wants to drag him to bed, to hell with it all. In a fit of impulsivity, he pushes his laptop aside and sits forward.

“Right. I got you a patch, for your jacket, by the way,” Remus tells him as he toes his shoes off by the door and pads over. He looks so earnest in the blue light of Sirius’ laptop, as if this nowhere between time and space exists only for them.

“Thanks Rem.” Sirius tries not to think on whether Remus told Iain the Date he’s buying a patch for his friend, and whether that’s kind of weird. “Have a good date?” He can’t resist asking, as if he likes twisting the knife deeper, or maybe he’s hoping it was an awful date.

“Date?” Remus laughs as he moves one of Sirius’ notebooks aside to sit on the other end of the sofa. “If it was a date neither of us knew that.”

Sirius’ brow furrows. “It wasn’t a date?”

“Why would it be a date?” Remus’ voice is painfully soft now, his eyes wide as he stares at Sirius.

“Because…” Sirius licks his lips. His fingers itch with the urge to bury them in Remus’ hair.

“Because the lad I fancy is a moron,” Remus murmurs, not looking away from Sirius, on the edge of a moment. “A complete moron who I’d quite like to kiss me right now.”

Sirius shoves away the rest of his notebooks with a little scuff of a laugh. “Come here,” he tells Remus, reaching for his wrist and tugging him closer. Remus obliges, shuffling closer, avoiding Sirius’ tobacco and a handful of highlighter pens until Sirius just gives in and hauls the man into his lap. “A complete moron, huh?” He says, as he leans in and kisses Remus like he’s been thinking of all night. Remus hums a little affirmative into the kiss, and it tastes so sweet.


End file.
